


The Beauty in Submission, and The Blood

by whiskygalore



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel Cas, BAMF!Dean, Bottom Dean Winchester, Demon Sam, Dom Castiel, M/M, Protective Sam Winchester, Public Humiliation, Spanking, Sub Dean, Tail Fucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-30
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-07-20 16:44:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16141349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiskygalore/pseuds/whiskygalore
Summary: Written for the the Spn_Masquerade prompt: in a bsdm world it's normal to put your sub over your knees and spank him if he missbehaves. Dean's master fingers/fucks him until he comes while everyone is watching (after he has to clean it up).https://spn-masquerade.livejournal.com/8997.html?thread=3487013#t3487013





	The Beauty in Submission, and The Blood

**Author's Note:**

> I’m not sure this ended up being what the OP was looking for so I’m sorry, but it’s where my mind went. Thanks Salt, and Somer for talking me down when the rushed posting mistakes almost sent me into meltdown, lol! And thank you to those who commented at Masquerade ❤️

 

  
“Hey, Angel...you need to keep your bitch under control.” 

“I beg your pardon?” Cas looks up at the man who, inexplicably, is holding Dean’s leash, the tan leather wrapped around his meaty hand more than once, pulling the leash taut. Dean, lips curled in a snarl, looks murderous. Cas sighs.

“Sir, I must request that you drop my sub’s leash. He does not have permission to allow anyone other than me or his brother to touch him.”  
  
“And does he have permission to creep around eavesdropping on private conversations?”  
  
“No, of course not.” Cas tilts his head in acknowledgment. “Sam,” he says, looking at his companion. “Will you take Dean’s leash please.”  
  
Sam, sitting at Cas’s side, rises to his feet, long limbs relaxed and deceptively casual, his tail curling high in the air behind him. The man holding Dean’s leash swallows hard, but otherwise tries to hide his surprise. Sam holds his hand out for Dean’s leash, and smiles with his teeth, not his eyes.  
  
“You keep strange company, angel.”  
  
Cas merely shrugs. He doesn’t owe this man anything, least of all an explanation. Angels and demons may not usually be the best of friends, but still, demon, angel, creature, human...this bar welcomes them all.  
  
“The leash,” Sam demands, his eyes flashing black for a fraction of second when the stranger seems reluctant to cede control of Dean.  
  
The man untangles the leather from around his hand, but still doesn’t go so far as to hand the leash over, despite the displeasure radiating in tail-flicking waves from Sam. Cas knows he’s about three second away from grabbing the leash and strangling the moron. Cas could do little to stop him. Nor would he particularly want to.

“Your sub disrespected me; I expect you to punish him.”

“I didn’t fucking do anything, you asshat,” Dean growls. It was too much to hope that he would manage to keep quiet while Cas handled this.  
  
“Are you going to let your bitch talk to me like that?” The man is smirking now, and Castiel’s wings ruffle in annoyance. Dean knows better.  
  
“Sam.” Cas nods. And that’s all the urging Sam needs to snatch the leash from the stranger’s hand, tugging Dean over beside them. Sam sits back down beside Cas, hiding the tension in his body with a loose-legged sprawl. Without needing told, Dean drops down onto his knees between them. Cas only just resists the urge to pet his hair. This is not the moment to soothe his wayward sub. Instead he addresses the trouble making stranger once more.  
  
“Thank you for returning him to us; he will of course be suitably punished for his misbehaviour.”  
  
“Suitably punished? What you going to do...take away his toys?” 

One of the man’s companions, looking warily at Sam and Cas, tries to intercede. “Hey, Donnie, leave it, huh?” 

“No way, Mike. This punk-ass little shit needs his ass beat raw.”  
  
Dean huffs and rolls his eyes, thankfully he’s turned towards Cas and Sam so no-one else can see, but still, he knows better. “I assure you,” Cas says, coolly. “He will feel the weight of my hand.”  
  
The man, Donnie scoffs. “You expect me to believe the word of a demon-loving angel?” Cas stifles the urge to flare his wings out behind him in irritation as he feels the weight of more eyes turning towards them. The altercation is drawing an audience. “The sub disrespected me, I want to see him punished.”  
  
“Hey, there’s a punishment bench in the back,” the bartender shouts over. And isn’t that ever so helpful.  
  
“Yeah.” Donnie grins, sly. “Your precious pet fucked up in public, he should be punished in public.”  
  
Dean’s eyes flick up to Cas’s. There’s not an ounce of fear in them. Cas returns his gaze, cool and considering.  
  
Sam leans over and whispers in his ear. “I know you don’t like putting him on show in front of assholes like this but, considering the circumstances, maybe you should just do it.”  
  
As usual, Sam has a point. Cas gazes down at Dean again. Dean, the brat, winks. Decision made, Cas stands, this time allowing his wings to flare up high behind him, a display of light-sucking onyx designed to startle and intimidate. “Fine...bring out the punishment bench.”  
  
An enthusiastic cheer goes up from the bar crowd and in a matter of a minutes the bartender is dragging an ancient relic of a wooden bench into the centre of the room. The fact that the bartender has to wipe a thick layer of dust off the age-old equipment indicates just how long it’s been since it was last used. Cas can understand why; the type of clientele this dive bar attracts are not the kind of people whom subs would entrust themselves to. A true sub is a sublime treasure, and rare enough to have their pick of suitors. Treat a sub badly and you are liable to find yourself alone, blacklisted and publicly shamed. Subs may be rare but they hold more power than any dom...be they angel, demon, or human.  
  
That’s not a fact this crowd appreciates or probably agree with. Which explains why Dean is the only sub in the place. And why the crowd are baying for his blood. Or at least his humiliation.  
  
Cas leaves Dean with Sam for the moment, and strides across the room to inspect the bench. It’s seen better days: the red leather cushioning is faded and threadbare and the wooden legs are almost stripped of varnish, but after testing its stability, he accepts that it’s essentially sturdy. The crowd around him continues to swell, and a growing sense of anticipation sparks in the air. Deciding its best to get this over and done with, Cas removes his coat, laying it across the back of a nearby chair. He repeats the move with his suit jacket and then, with precision that drives Dean insane, he folds up the sleeves of his white shirt.  
  
Once done, he turns back towards Sam and Dean, taking in the delightful picture they make: Sam, standing tall and proud with Dean kneeling straight-backed at his feet. Sam is an imposing sight; like Cas, he’s stripped off his jacket leaving him in just jeans and a tee-shirt that clings to his broad shoulders showcasing his flexing muscles. He’s also discarded his beany leaving his curved horns clearly visible where they curl up through his hair. It’s even more obvious to everyone now that Sam isn’t just a demon, but one they really don’t want to mess with.

Dean is beautiful in his subservience, head bowed and wrists crossed behind his back. He has perfect form and flawless manners...when he wants to. 

One nod from Cas, and Sam leans down, unclips the leash from Dean’s collar and whispers in his ear. Instructions that are for no one else to hear. Cas can see from the shiver that runs across Dean’s shoulders, that he and Sam are, as usual, on the same wavelength. 

Dean rises smoothly to his feet and strips, without show, boots placed on a chair, clothes folded neatly on top of them, until he’s left standing in just the panties Cas picked out for him this morning. The sight draws several appreciative whistles and comments from their audience. Although Cas can’t blame them—Dean is breathtaking; his ass spectacular in pink satin and lace—that doesn’t lessen the urge he feels to smite every last one of them. Luckily for them all, Cas has excellent self control.

They do at least know better than to touch Dean as he walks past them, straight towards Cas, although perhaps that’s only because Sam is a looming shadow at his brother’s back, his tail whipping side to side in silent warning. Dean drops to his knees at Cas’s feet, gazing up at him demurely through his thick lashes.  
  
“You know why you are being punished, Dean?”  
  
If the onlookers are expecting a meek cowed sub, they’re sorely disappointed. Dean’s voice is sure and unwavering, more like a soldier than a sub, when he replies. “Yes, Sir.”  
  
Cas, to a ripple of surprise, then sits down on the spanking bench, his legs stretched out in front of him. There’s even a brief flicker of shock on Dean’s face before he schools his expression once more. Good, this punishment may not have been Cas’s idea but that doesn’t mean he can’t have a little fun with it.  
  
“Over my knee, Dean,” Cas says. Dean shoots him a look of betrayal before reluctantly crawling over his lap. Dean doesn’t mind being punished. He’ll happily take a beating. Like a man. Having his ass spanked over Cas’s knee like a naughty child, in front of an audience...that’s a different matter. Cas molds him into the position he wants, head down, ass high, hands behind his back, and satin-covered cock pressed against Cas’s thigh.  
  
“Shit,” someone says in the background. “I ain’t never did see a prettier ass.”  
  
Sam’s tail lashes against the floor in annoyance and someone else quickly shushes the man. Cas has to agree with him though; he’s never seen a prettier ass either. It’s going to be even prettier when he’s spanked it raw.  
  
Cas wraps a hand around Dean’s wrists, to hold him in place, and afford Cas some leverage, then he runs his other hand down Dean’s back, over the two dimples at the dip of his ass, across his panties, smoothing the satin down over his pert cheeks.  
  
“Breathe,” he says quietly to Dean, who has tensed in position. “Be good for me.”  
  
Dean inhales, and exhales, a little of the tension bleeding out from across his shoulders. Cas draws his hand back and spanks Dean, under the swell of his ass. The sound cuts sharp through the room and the last titters of conversation fall away. They have the attention of the entire bar.  
  
Cas follows up with a smack against one cheek and then the other, under the high leg of Dean’s panties. Cas pauses to admire the way his handprints stand out vivid against milk pale skin. Beautiful. But he doesn’t stop for long. He peppers hits across Dean’s thighs, and up and over the generous curve of his sub’s ass, his hand never landing in the same place twice.  
  
After a dozen slaps have left their mark, Dean relaxes, pliant, across Cas’s lap, the last of the tension wound tight through his muscles finally melting away. He’s silently offering himself up, body and mind, to Cas’s dominion.  
  
None but the most natural sub could hand themselves over so fully. Dean yearns to cede control, it’s in his DNA, it’s who he is. But without the right person to hand that control over to, he would never allow himself the pleasure, the release, of submission. Cas, and Sam, have earned his trust in ways no other men ever could. They do not take that gift for granted.  
  
Now that Dean’s nerves have faded, his ass warmed up, Cas can start to put some weight behind his hits. First though, he tugs the panties down over the peach rise of Dean’s cheeks, leaving the scrap of satin and lace resting half way down his sub’s thighs. The untouched skin they leave behind is Cas’s first target. He slaps Dean square on the ass, hard. Dean gasps, the first sound he’s made so far. Cas does it again. Slaps him hard on the exact same spot. Dean’s gasp is louder although he tries to muffle it.  
  
“I want to hear it,” Cas says, keeping his voice low so only those closest can possibly pick up his words. “I want _everyone_ to hear you, Dean.”  
  
The next slap on the same reddened spot drags a bitten off cry from Dean’s lips, the next, a yelp. Cas smiles, and takes that as a sign to up the pace. He lands smack after smack against his sub’s flesh, no rhythm and pattern to the hits. Sometimes his hand lands on the same spot four times in a row, other times he jumps from Dean’s thighs to the ripe flesh of his ass, to his sit spot, some hits landing hard enough to rock Dean across Cas’s lap, others nothing more than a brief stinging tease.  
  
Cas is unsurprised to find Dean growing hard against Cas’s thigh. His dick, trapped between his belly and Cas’s leg, leaking pre-come badly enough that Cas can feel it through his pants.  
  
Taking his eyes off Dean for a second, Cas looks up at Sam. There’s a flush high in his cheeks, his tail stands erect in the air behind him and the tent in his jeans is obvious. “Sam,” Cas says. “Your belt, please.”  
  
The request draws hoots and jeers from the crowd.  
  
“Fuck yeah!”  
  
“Stripe that ass.” Donnie’s familiar voice pipes up.  
  
“Boy’s butt’s gonna get beat bloody now.”  
  
Cas ignores them all, his eyes trained on Sam who unbuckles his belt, slides it from the loops, folds it in half, and hands it over without a word, just a twist of a grin at the corner of his lips.  
  
Holding the buckle in his hand, Cas trails the edge of looped leather up the backs of Dean’s thighs, watches his skin pebble in its wake. The first slap is light, testing. Dean grumbles. The second is less friendly. The third, across his already reddened cheeks, echoes through the room and Dean cries out.  
  
“Twenty, Dean. I’m going to give you twenty more swats with Sam’s belt, understand?”  
  
Dean breathes out heavily, which is not an answer. Cas lets go of his wrists, twists his fingers in Dean’s hair and tugs his head backwards. “Do you understand me, Dean?”  
  
This time Dean replies, his voice ragged. “Sorry, sir. Yes, sir.”  
  
Humming his approval, Cas releases his hold and pets his fingers through Dean’s hair instead, scritching at his scalp. “Good boy.” And then he slaps the belt, whip sharp, against Dean’s thigh, catching him off guard. Dean’s hands fly back to cover his ass. It’s a mistake. He knows better, and as soon as Dean realises what he’s done, his hands snap up to rest at the small of his back. It’s too late though.  
  
In all honesty, Cas isn’t too mad; natural reactions can be tricky to control, and Dean corrected himself, quickly. Still, even without an audience Cas would never let that kind of transgression go without some consequence.  
  
“Apparently, I can’t trust you to behave,” he tuts. “It looks like you require some assistance to help you control yourself. I don’t have to tell you how disappointed I am, do I?”  
  
“I’m sorry,” Dean says, and he does indeed sound sorry, this time.  
  
“You will be sorry,” Cas says, dispassionately. “I’m adding another five straps with the belt. And if you disobey me again, I’ll add another five to your balls.”  
  
Dean whimpers, his head drops. His dick, however, remains rock hard where it’s wedged between them.  
  
“Perhaps,” Cas says to him. “If you ask very nicely, Sam will help you to behave.”  
  
Dean’s pout, Cas is sure, must be a pretty picture right now. He sulks silently for so long that Cas doesn’t think he’s going to do it, but eventually he says, with a huff, towards the floor, “Sam, will you please help me behave.”  
  
“Well, shit, boy,” someone catcalls. “That didn’t sound nice to me.”  
  
Cas doesn’t much appreciate the sniggers that echo around the bar, but the point is valid.  
  
“Dean,” he scolds, pinching the reddened flesh of Dean’s ass. “You’re testing my patience.”  
  
Dean’s yelp elicits more derisive laughter from their audience. But he doesn’t push his luck any further. “Sam,” he pleads, looking around and meeting the demon’s eye. “Will you help me behave, please.”  
  
Sam takes a step forward, bends his knees so he’s nearly level with Dean when he speaks to him. “And if I do...do you promise to behave? Not to fight me?”  
  
“I promise, Sammy,” Dean says, a little desperately as Cas grabs a handful of his asscheek, squeezing it hard. Dean’s skin burns beautifully hot beneath his hand.    
  
Sam hums, as though giving the idea some thought and Cas uses the time to run his fingernails across Dean’s tortured thighs.  
  
“Please, Sam,” Dean begs. “I’ll be good for you, I swear.”  
  
Sam nods then, seemingly satisfied. As if there was ever any doubt he would miss out on an opportunity to play with Dean.  
  
Standing up, Sam sweeps the end of his leathery tail down Dean’s skin, curling around his ear, circling his neck, skimming across his shoulders and down his spine, over the hot curve of his ass, wriggling down underneath and trailing along his taint, teasing at his balls before with a wicked smile, retreating and winding his tail around Dean’s forearms and wrists, pinning them in place.  
  
“There,” he says. “Now what do you say?”  
  
Dean breathes out heavily. “Thank you, Sam,” he says, and this time it’s genuine.  
  
Although he will never admit it, the stricter control Dean is under, the happier, more relaxed, he becomes.  
  
“Good boy,” Sam praises him, leaning down just far enough to ruffle Dean’s hair before standing up and making sure Cas has enough room to continue. They work well together, Cas and Sam, between them they know exactly how to decode and solve the complicated puzzle of Dean Winchester. They can take him apart and build him back up with practised ease.  
  
“Hey,” some smart-ass shouts out, taking a few steps forward from the crowd. “I thought you said only you and his brother gets to touch him. Why the fuck does this black eyed demon get to fondle him. Maybe we should all get a go?”  
  
“I _am_ his brother,” Sam growls. “And if you lay a single finger on him, I’ll rip your lungs out through your throat.”  
  
The guy swiftly melts back into the crowd, a few of whom are starting to look distinctly uncomfortable. Good. Cas turns his attention back to Dean. “I’m going to start now, are you ready?”  
  
“Yes, sir,” Dean replies, meekly.  
  
Cas doesn’t hesitate. He doesn’t count out loud, but he keeps precise track of his hits, spreads them evenly across Dean’s ass and the backs of his thighs, never spanking the same spot twice in a row. The sound of leather snapping against skin fills the air. Dean’s whimpers the only other sound Cas can hear. Dean rocks down against Cas’s leg with every swat. His cock only growing harder despite, _because_ , of the fire spreading across his skin.  
  
At nine strikes Dean is trembling. At fourteen he’s sobbing. At nineteen, he’s begging.  
  
“Please, I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”  
  
“I know you are,” Cas says, taking a break to rub the belt in lazy circles across the swollen welts striped across Dean’s ass. “And you’re nearly done. Six more, Dean. Just six more.”  
  
“I...I...can’t.”  
  
“You can, Dean,” Cas says. “But I’m feeling charitable, so I’ll make you a deal, a generous one. I can give you the last six strikes with my hand instead, and then we will get cleaned up, you will apologise to the good people here for intruding on their night, we shall go home and you will sleep in your own room, alone. Or, I can finish your punishment, with Sam’s belt, and then I’ll let you come, you can clean up, we will finish our business here, go home and sleep together in our bed. Which would you prefer?”  
  
There is no choice, of course. Dean is never going to go with the first option. Going without an orgasm he could live with, if he absolutely had to, grudgingly. Sleeping in his own room, alone...that’s a punishment reserved for his very worst behaviour. Dean Winchester likes to snuggle. It’s a fact.  
  
Dean heaves in a shivery breath. “The belt, sir.” He sniffs. “Please.”  
  
“As you wish,” Cas replies, trying not to smirk.  
  
He doesn’t go easy. Despite the show Dean’s putting on for the crowd, he’s taken far more hits in punishment than this before. Taken far more in play. His face may be tear-stained, his skin sticky with sweat, but his dick is about ready to blow.  
  
Raising his arm up behind him, Cas flicks his wrist and smacks Dean across the centre of his ass. The next swipe catches Dean straight across his sit spot, the skin there raised and almost purple. Dean isn’t going to want to sit down without a cushion for a while.  
  
“Four more,” Cas says, and shuffles around on the bench, manhandling a pliant Dean until he has him positioned just where he wants him. The next smack catches Dean on the underside of his ass and just catches his balls. Dean howls. Cas does it again, harder, basking in Dean’s screams.  
  
“Sam?” Is all Cas has to say for Sam to move. Tail still wound tight around Dean’s wrists, Sam, reading Cas like a book, squats down and drags apart Dean’s ass cheeks, revealing pale untouched skin and his pretty little hole.  
  
The crowd, almost as one, draws in a breath. Cas flicks the belt and spanks Dean lightly right across his hole. Dean sobs.  
  
The last hit, Cas doesn’t hold back, snapping the belt down again, harder, on Dean’s hole. Dean wails and jerks so hard, Cas almost thinks he’s come just from that, but his dick is still a hot brand against Cas’s thigh.  
  
One nod from Cas, and Sam unwraps his tail from around Dean’s wrists, trailing it up his brother’s back, around his neck, and up his bobbing throat before nudging it inside Dean’s mouth. Dean takes it beautifully, opens his mouth wide and lets Sam slide his tail in and out.  
  
“Get it nice and wet, Dean,” Cas instructs, massaging Dean’s buttocks, relishing the heat radiating from his skin. Dean obeys perfectly, lets Sam fuck his mouth until his lips shine, saliva trailing down his chin, dripping onto the floor.  
  
Once the end of his tail is thoroughly spit-soaked, Sam slips it from his brother’s mouth and nudges it between his asscheeks. Cas feels the tremors ripple through Dean’s muscles, hears the hitch of his breath. He can’t see his face though.  
  
“Hold on, Sam,” he instructs, and then, ignoring a grumble of complaint from Dean, he shifts his trembling sub until Dean is sitting, straddling Cas’s knee, his panties dangling from one ankle and face buried in the crook of Cas’s neck.  
  
“Look at me, Dean,” Cas says, his fingers digging into Dean’s flame-red ass cheeks. Obeying instantly, Dean leans back and gazes up into Cas’s eyes. His face is beautiful; flushed almost as red as his ass, and messy with spit and sweat and tears. Cas can’t resist licking a stripe across his cheek, the taste of salt bursting across his tongue.  
  
He sees the moment Sam slides his tail into his brother’s ass; Dean’s mouth drops open, his eyes almost rolling back in his head.  
  
“Ride my thigh, Dean,” Cas commands. “Make yourself come.”  
  
Dean whimpers, but does as he’s told. It’s not easy, not with Sam’s tail fucking in and out of his almost dry hole, or the way his flogged-sensitive skin catches on Cas’s pants every time he moves. But Dean doesn’t stop, not even when Sam grabs his hands and holds them behind his back, Dean keeps rocking against Cas’s thigh, whining and biting his lip, chasing his orgasm without shame.  
  
Cas can tell Dean’s close, his movements growing more desperate, hips jerking, breathing erratic. Eyes glittering black, Sam drags his tail from Dean’s hole. Dean whines pitifully, only quieting when Sam’s tail sinks back into his mouth, making his cheeks bulge full. Cas grabs Dean’s ass, spreads his cheeks wide and watches Dean’s face, rapt, when Sam’s tail slides from his mouth and snaps whip-sharp across his brother’s hole.  
  
Dean throws his head back and screams, bucking against Cas’s thigh, his orgasm beaten out of him with a ferocity that leaves them all gasping for breath. Sam immediately releases Dean’s hands, holding his shoulders steady instead as Dean collapses against Cas’s chest, shivering and whimpering his way through his orgasm, his spunk soaking into the leg of Cas’s pants.  
  
Cas allows Dean a few minutes to come down, gather his senses, before issuing his next order. Even then his own voice isn’t as unaffected as he would like. “You’ve made a mess, Dean. Clean it up.”  
  
Dean doesn’t pretend not to know what Cas means. With little more than a moan when his joints pop, he slides to his knees, opens his bitten-red lips, sticks out his tongue and laps his come from Cas’s pants. Kitten-licking delicately at the pools of spunk before sucking the fabric into his mouth until every last trace is gone.  
  
He looks up at Cas when he’s done, green eyes shining bright. Cas’s dick tents his pants right next to Dean’s face. If they were at home, Cas would have Dean suck him off now. Sam too. Perhaps they might even put him on all fours and Sam would fuck his face while Cas pounded him hard from behind, watching the red welts across his ass bloom into beautiful purple bruises.

  
But they aren’t at home and they aren’t finished.  
  
  
“Up,” Cas orders and Dean climbs back into his lap, both of them groaning as Dean’s punished ass grinds down against Cas’s cock. Dean presses a kiss against the hinge of Cas’s jaw, and whispers against the shell of his ear. “Donnie’s the one who has the angel blade. He was planning on killing you when we leave.”  
  
“I know,” Cas murmurs, kissing Dean’s forehead.  
  
“Well,” someone behind Cas coughs. “I guess the shows over, boys.”  
  
Cas imagines half of the room could use a little alone time right now. The other half probably came in their boxers already.  
  
“Sam,” he says, looking over Dean’s shoulder. “Help your brother, please.”  
  
Dean doesn’t really need the help, not now he’s had time for his legs to stop trembling and his breathing to return to normal. In fact, he’s incredibly calm, sliding from Cas’s lap and onto his feet with the grace of a cat. A panther. Strong, powerful and agile. A hunter. Deadly.

Behind him, Sam drops his head, gently kisses the nape of Dean’s neck, and presses something into his hand.  
  
Dean sighs, content, and smiles down at Cas. “May I kill him now, please, sir?”  
  
“Of course you may, Dean.”  
  
By the time Cas rises to his feet and smoothes down his spit-soaked pants, Dean is smeared with blood and Donnie lies, wide-eyed and dead at his feet. Dean spins the knife between his fingers, before crouching down and wiping the blade clean against Donnie’s pants. With his left hand, he deftly retrieves the angel-killing blade from where it’s hidden in the man’s jacket, tossing the weapon to Sam who catches it with ease.  
  
Every eye in the bar is on them.  
  
“Would you like me to gut anyone else, sir?” Dean asks, eyes glowing as he bounces back up to the balls of his feet.

Cas looks around the room, not a single person steps forward to challenge them. Not a single friend of Donnie’s brave enough to avenge him. Seeing Dean, wild and naked and dripping with blood, Cas isn’t surprised.  
  
“I think we’re done for the evening, Dean. Sam?”  
  
Sam smiles, dimple wide, and adjusts his sizeable erection. “Sure, Cas. I think we’ve dealt with our problem here, and Dean’s cleaned up the mess beautifully.”  
  
“So,” Dean grins, feral, stepping over Donnie’s lifeless body. “Home, sex and snuggle time?”  
  
Sam hooks his tail under Dean’s collar, and tugs his brother towards him and Cas. “Sure, Dean, I think you’ve earned snuggle time.” 

Cas flares up his wings, drapes one around Dean’s shoulder protectively. He’s put on enough of a show for these men tonight. He’s Cas’s now. Sam’s and Cas’s. And Sam’s right...he’s going to get all the snuggles he wants. Soon. First, Cas needs to see him down on his knees, naked, bruised and blood-splattered, cock hard between his legs, chin tipped up, lips parted and eyes closed. He needs to watch his and Sam’s come drip down Dean’s cheeks, his mouth, the tip of his nose, the sharp cut of his jaw. Because Dean’s never more beautiful than when he’s stripped back raw; to power, and violence, fierce devotion, and unquestioning submission. The perfect soldier. The perfect sub. Perfect.

 

 __  
Finis  


_Thank you for reading!_


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